This Week in Milford

September 25, 2018

And Gil Screams Eiffel Tower High

092518

Awwwwwwwwww. Gil is in utter disbelief as his team is virtually getting railroaded. No doubt the Oakwood coach did call a time out but us Thorpiverse veterans are used to not holding our breaths when the Mudlark finishes the Mudlark Marathon run from Athens, Greece (where the Olympics all began) to Milford (well, the plot’s always a marathon, anyway) and beats the rest of the world by 2 days, 29 hours, 34 seconds, 1/456 microseconds, lapping France, Kenya, Sudetenland, Maldives (appaently training techniques suck, such as bad nutrition, i.e., dearth of Special K, Lucky Charms, apples, oranges, limes. uglis, mangos, beets, onions, borscht, prunes, etc.) et al only to find out he was disqualified because he skipped the Strait of Magellan when he was negotiating his way from the Atlantic to the Pacific. We’re resigned to our fate, thankful for the day when every ONCE IN A BLUE MOON they win SOMETHING. Nope, gang, Charlie Brown and his band of merry losers can keep on losing and build eternal character along the way and still keep its readership going. Not so in the world of Thorpiverse. Win SOMETHING, preferably a State Championship (Normally that’s wisely the case) or watch EVERYBODY switch over to Dagwood (technically Blondie).  A Doug Flutie like Miracle Bomb from the Strait of Magellan to the other end zone will have subscribers for life.

“Marino heaves a torpedo from 99 yards for the game TOUCHDOWN MILFORD. There’s an injury time out as the explosion caused mass destruction and the game can’t end on a natural disaster but the Mudlarks will likely win as De Windt, though blown in two, still managed to hang on and keep one foot in bounds!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Plus, everybody else got blown sky high!!!!!!!!!!”

If that doesn’t spike subscription sales, Marty Moon’s an astronaut.

 

And if Gil’s frown doesn’t prove that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, nothing will. That arc on his visage is the route you would negotiate through the Alps from Milano, Italia to Innsbruck, Osterreich. You forgot the Simplon Tunnel, Thorpiverse, assuming it’s nearby. Or just pick your favorite Deutscher Kaiser or Pope and attach an appelation to it. Make this fun.

Then there’s the fashion statement the referee is making. Time was, a referee might get yelled at by the Milford die-hards but  THE BLACK AND WHITE was wider in the stripes. Now, they got that look that Jordache is after. They’ll be hitting the runway at the modeling show at the Milford Expo Center after the game. At least there they’ll get cheered at.

 

Gang, wouldn’t you JUST ONCE love to see Coach Thorp do a tarantella when he gets waxed like he’s getting in P1? Granted, throwing a chair out on the field might not travel far in the natural grass and the field has bigger dimensions than a basketball court. But the worst I have seen from Coach Thorp the last 60 years are some Egyptian symbols (planet, ibis, North Star, pound sign, pyramid, etc.) out of some Sphinx somewhere along the Nile but I personally would like to see more animation and violent tempers and it starts with P1 in today’s strip. C’mon, Gil, you can do better than that. Scream so that Bulgaria can hear you, yell if the refs got their license out of a Trix box, say something about their mothers, they all have one, throw a helmet or a shoulder pad or a jock strap out on the field, ANYTHING to get ejected. Okay, Unsportsmanlike Conduct for throwing some player’s smelly piece of apparel is breaking precedent but the punting team has botched the snap several times, the referees are killing you and all you can manage is a Smiley face going the wrong way?  I hope the expression isn’t permanently welded. That might cause problems when you, Mimi and family do a family portrait at Milford Studios.

I do gotta admire the Nerfball sailing through the uprights at the Milford Observatory. The Oreo background makes for great atmosphere.

 

Walking toward the football field

He surely knows where to go

He slaps on his ‘phones

And puts on a show

Feasting on Gil’s fecklessness

And reckless leadership

And that Gil don’t give a shit.

 

He struts into the broadcast booth

He’s been there ever since

He strolls down to concessions

For a box of Junior Mints

Whooooaaaaaaa

Talking ’bout the game at hand

Thrashing Coach Thorp into sand

We’ll shout at Moon and demand

Try to get his attention

Scream at him

And we’ll scream, we’ll scream, we’ll scream

 

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream Marty Eiffel Tower Highhhhhhhhhhh

And we’ll scream MARTY EIFFEL TOWER HIGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 

I may have missed a verse or two. You might want to check me on that one. Also, thanks to Mimi Thorp for belting out the last verse and proving a suitable replacement for Grant Hart. We know she’s busy with her basketball team. She’ll be even busier this year as the conference upped the schedule by one game. How she finds time to sweat through a five-game schedule and rock with one of the best in the business and still find time for the kids and Gil (well, in bed, anyway) is nothing short of amazing. Scripts have a way of easing up the logjam.

 

If yore face got permanently contorted cuz that shot of Jack came straight from the well outta some corn field somewhar and ya wind up as a Witch Doctor Exhibit at the Milford Museum, ya might be a redneck.

“And Coach T’s inept coaching strikes again. That pouty gargoyle mien won’t save his ass this time. We’ll be back to wrap things up in a moment. The final score, Oakwood, 31, Milford, 28. You’re listening to WDIG, a division of Lear Field Sports.”

 

Coach Shaw is reading The Saturday Evening Post. He’s doing the “Where Do You Think You Are?” section. It’s all the Milfords in all the different states and he’s already figured out Milford, Delaware, Milford, Connecticut, Milford, Pennsylvania, and Milford Indiana, but can’t figure the state Milford, as in Mudlarks, comes from. (“It’s only 5 kilometers to Oakwood?”) While he’s wrestling with an Angel on this one

“Hi, Honey, I have a surprise!!!!!!!!”

“Wow, DO YOU EVER!!!!!!! I’m trying to solve this knotty problem. How many ‘k’s in ‘Mudlarkia’?”

“Darling, how can you indulge in one of Benjamin Franklin’s pastimes at a time like this when I have something in my possession that will alter your life?”

“You finally bought them mag wheels for my Dodge Durango? Wow, I’ll be the envy of my hunting buddies. Them raccoons will get their rings knocked off from all that glitter.”

“Nooooooooooooo.”

“Did my mail-order sawed off Winchester arrive today?”

“Nooooooooooooo.”

“Daggone it, I need to call the Milford FedEx office. It was shipped Tuesday. It’s already Friday. Looks like I get free shipping on my gun anyway.”

“I have something else that’s free.”

“Honey, you know they don’t run specials on deer tags. That’ll be the day.”

“Nope. Time’s up. Ta-daaaaaaaaaaa”

Shaw’s wife pops in the living room in a black bikini.

Shaw drops the Saturday Evening Post in the magazine rack between Field and Stream and Milford Outdoors Today

“Gloopy glop, um, I think I’ll head down to the Milford Public Library. I bet they’d know about Mudlarkia.”

“Uh, It’s Saturday and it’s 6:00PM and I think they’re closed.”

“Blippy bloop. That’s what you think (Coach Shaw recovering as fast as his brain can process the information) . I heard they were having a bake sale and handing out free cupcakes if you can read 500 Louis L’Amours in an hour. Shoot, the way he uses guns and kills off the bad guy in the end, it’s the same old same old. No Martin Charley Horse or whatever the name Dickens called him to contend with, let alone get on his hands and knees down at the Milford Shelter House beggin’ Oliver Twist for oatmeal and onion rings. Nope, bang, bang, take that you slimeball bank robber, you cain’t run off from Fort Knox with 500 tons of gold in your Conestoga Wagon. Louis’ll shoot you dead if ya don’t watch out. Them cupcakes is as good as in my belly.”

“The library has that many books on one person?”

“Oh, Hell, yeah. Then some lucky winner, if he/she can guess the State Flower, the State Motto, the State Flag, and the Admission Date of Mudlarkia will win a whole chocolate cake. I might have trouble with the last one since I don’t remember when the Carpetbaggers entered into our state but I’m pretty sure it was before the Gettysburg Address but just after the Wilmot Proviso.”

“Dear, why don’t we skip the history lesson and make our own history. We’ll do the 21-gun salute.”

“Because we might have run out of ammo?”

His wife caught off guard for the moment, Coach Shaw gets back on the offensive

“And if we read ‘The Positronic Man’ by Asimov before midnight, we get a $50 Gift Card to Milford Donut Solutions. I can taste those custard-filled chocolate long johns mow. Umm, umm.”

“I’ve never known you to read Science Fiction.”

“I read Clifford Simak and Ray Bradbury right before Game Film sessions. I can break down an opponent’s defense right after devouring ‘Fahrenheit 451’. AND the coop de grass is the drawing for the 2018 Chevy Blazer 4-Wheel Drive. It drivews through snow, salt water, sleet, ice, lichens, earthquake faults, Bavarian Alps, gneiss, permafrost, polar ice caps-”

“Polar ice caps? We’re nowhere near the North or South Pole. We’re in the State of Mudlarkia, remember? We’re practically across the Atlantic for the Bahamas, silly.”

“Blubby, blubby, there’s some snow that never melted at the Milford Wildlife area that the caribou dumped a load on and preserved for several months. If you’re not careful, you could drive your Blazer into the swamp and get eaten by crocodiles.”

“Caribou and crocs in the same refuge?”

“And all I have to do to be eligible for the drawing is read ‘Last of the Mohicans’ in Chinese before the cock crows twice.”

“Honey, you don’t KNOW any Chinese.”

“That’s what YOU think. I have this IBM Word Processor that can translate faster than you can say Rosenthal’s Methods for German. And it’s even been broken down into Cantonese, Mandarin, and Shikoku, in case the judges try to pull a fast one.”

“Isn’t the last one Japanese?”

Ignoring last slight, clinging desperately to his sexual barrenness

“And don’t you need batteries for the translator?”

One last stab

“Hell, I’ll get ’em down at Milford Electronics. It says right here, now where’d it go, ah, here it is, right under one of the electrodes ‘can…’, damn this Vietnamese can be a pain to read, only someone from the Gnomemobile can read it, ‘…only…be…special-…orderdered…send…SASE…'”

Coach Shaw looks up.

His wife is smiling in victory.

 

“It’s like Louis being surrounded by Black Bart and his gang without any bullets in his gun. You can’t have a happy ending in his novels if the supply office at Fort Leavenworth or Fort Cheyenne failed to order the right guns and ammo in time. We might still be using tomahawks. But at the Milford Men’s Clinic, you can shoot straight without any fear of the Dalton Gang spoiling your wedding. You can get married, get it on in bed that night, free from anyone crashing the party. With treatment programs that work, isn’t it time your wim-wim got the proper medicine and stood and be counted so that Louis can get that 1,345,586th novel he’s been working on? Don’t let Louis go the way of John Wilkes Booth and let him fight his way out of the barn. You’ll be glad you did.”

Gang, have at it. I don’t know which Art Deco bus I’m riding in, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

 

In Gil’s Living Room Decor

“Kaz, Shaw was listening to ‘Saturday Night Fever’ over the speakers, wasn’t he?”

“How’d you know, Gil?”

“There’s toilet paper forming a 540 degree angle from the shower stall to the film screen.”

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September 24, 2018

Creatively Blocked

Filed under: actual action, football, Marty Moon — nedryerson @ 6:21 am

09242018

It’s fun to dump on Marty Moon. His sippy cup is full of bottom shelf vermouth. He’s sealed up in a crate, imagining that the cockroaches crawling around him are playing football. His headset is assembled from odds and ends scrounged from the kitchenware area of Goodwill. His lifetime batting average of successful sick burns on Gil is .002, but I’m going to have to give him a small win today. Gil’s whole approach to the punt team is a disaster. Sure, things go wrong even with the best personnel, but Gil is just throwing crap at the wall to see what sticks during the game. Hey Weibe, you just scored a touchdown. Congrats, you’re the new long snapper. What are you doing Gil? Maybe that game video software that was hinted at earlier is so much fun to play around with that the whole coaching staff forgot to sort out the depth chart during practices. Wait, practices? Oh yeahhhh.

Never fear, everything will come up roses for Gil. Look! A miraculous play on the other side of the ball on special teams. Tiki Jansen, proud driver of a 2000 Breeze, blocks a field goal attempt. There’s no way to know how he got through or around the Oakwood line. He just did, okay?

eta billytheskink pointed out a similarity between Tiki’s dive and a cut scene from Tecmo Super Bowl. I think this is what he’s referring to:
blocked

I only played the first Tecmo Bowl game, and I was bad at it so I ended up mostly watching others play. I don’t think there were insert shots like this in that game.

September 22, 2018

Don’t Look So Excited, Jason

gt09222018

Jason looks as though he’d rather be keeping wicket for the Croydon Gentlemen as Kaz readies him to go over the top, then under the bus.  If this is the same Jason (Weibe) who just scored a touchdown on the last drive, why put one of your offensive weapons at risk like that?  I get that he’s a tight end and, unlike Heather Burns, probably has enough size to hold his own on the line, but still: we’ve seen no exposition that he’s practiced at the position.  How many elbows does Kaz have to get his arm around Jason’s shoulder like that?

Speaking of the anatomically implausible, is Sam Finn rolling on his own ankle as he reaches for the felt electric football?   That’ll set up a Weibe-to-Malouf punting combo even more disastrous than the last two.  There are obvious answers here, first being have the Mudlarks’ regular center snap the ball directly to Sam, who can take a two-step drop and and quick-kick.  If Milford operates out of the shotgun from time to time, the center should be used to snapping the ball a greater distance than a conventional snap, which would give Sam even more room for a quick-kick.

This will give Marty, now sporting cupcake liners in his headset, prime fodder for his postgame show.  How could Gil, Kaz, Steve & co. put such an ill-prepared special teams unit on the field?  Did they spend too much time on baseball?

metapost: The slow-motion disaster post-Hurricane Florence continues to unfold in Bakst country.  We no longer get a bonfire in Milford, but down there is a bonfire that’s having its own share of troubles.  Again, if any of you TWIMers were in the path of Florence and are dealing with the aftermath, holler at us and let us know you’re alright.

September 21, 2018

No kicker? No problem!

Filed under: actual action, anatomically implausible, freak hands, hands in the air, Oakwood — robmize2013 @ 3:24 pm

Every time we start a new storyline  we have high hopes and invariably they are dashed a few days later. Its now sinking in that we’re gonna have to deal with this kicker situation until Christmas. The Mudlarks take 3 months to figure out what everyone else takes a day or 2 to.

P1– I had said before that it didnt matter who recovered the muff– it was 4th down, so either way Oakwood had the ball.

How on earth is #73 on Milford laying FACE-UP with his left arm on his stomach?? How do you dive backwards when the ballcarrier is coming at you? The Milford helmet to his right is in a position that the players whole body must be underneath #73. So he was lined up to #73’s Right, and dove Underneath him –trying to stop the blue ballcarrier to the right. And we have white legs facing the same direction as the Oakwood offensive line! How the hell did they get there?? Plus some other white body parts behind and to the right of White Legs. A miserable panel as a whole. Nothing makes sense. And the ref is standing in the pile. How he sees the goal line is beyond me. He’ll need new feet after this play, since his original feet are now in pieces from 8 bodies laying on him.

P2– nice that Oakwoods D-line has such a huge gap between the nose tackle and DT. I would drive a truck through that line, but Gil says throw the ball. Good thing Oakwood doesnt bother to cover the TE– usually a linebacker will stay with him; but P3 isnt big enough for 2 players.

September 20, 2018

I Saw My Life Sail Through My Hands And Get Recovered At The 3-Yard Line

Filed under: actual action, football, Gil Thorp, Marty Moon, Pissy faced Marty — tdrewhardin @ 4:45 pm

Dad, you’re 80 years old today. You are a major reason for this blog. Thanks for all your encouragement in ANYTHING I’ve set out to do. I love you.

092018

P1: “Coach, remember the time when you said that if you had broccoli in your teeth, you’d want to know about it?”

Which typifies the aborted inspiration Coach Thorp attempts to instill in his players. The only problem is, and maybe it’s just me, but don’t you old-timers remember  when Gil was going the Dr. Norman Vincent Peale Power of Positive Thinking Route, the player(s) would perform something that may not have been drawn up in the playbook nor, really, went the way of the Thorpscript but turned out halfway decent? Now it just seems like every time Gil dispenses his Pearls of Wisdom, it reads like a bad Kung-Fu episode.

“Grasshopper, you have nothing to fear from the 458-lb. defensive tackle that you’re blocking this Friday. Just remember your technique, hit him low, and tell him his mother still reads him bedtime stories. Talk trash to him and you can take him out of his game.”

“Yes, Master.”

SQUASHHHHHHHHHHHH

“Watch where you’re driving that equipment truck. Now we’ll never find him in this high grass.”

And, again, maybe it’s just me(what happens when you develop writer’s cramp in your old age) but do we really need another Polygrip Moment as in P1? I know Gil is 60 years old but if he’s been drinking milk and eating his fruits and vegetables and, in general, been a poster child for the 4 food groups, then, unless his teeth were made out of balsa wood, they should still BE IN PLACE. Otherwise, why does he feel the need to flash those dentures to Freddy or the zombies in the background?

“He won’t suffer any more embarrassing incidents, such as watching his teeth pop out of his mouth and land on the sod when he jumps up and down after his place kicker sends the winning 69-yarder through the uprights. Try the new Polygrip with Fluoride. Occlusive seals never felt stronger and grass stains are a thing of the past. Only at Milford Pharmacy.”

 

The Milford Police are still baffled by WHO SHOT COACH SHAW. You’d think in a small town that’s been on the planet for 60 years where EVERYBODY KNOWS EVERYBODY in the same period of time that the culprit would have nowhere to run. Well, that’s not entirely true, if I were to shoot a man who barely shows up on the radar at football games but is a weather advisory at game film sessions (The National Weather Service has issued a Shaw Warning Advisory  in effect until 10:15PM this evening, Mudlark Standard Time. There are reports of damaging winds and BB-sized hail. Power lines, as a result of  multiple lightning incidents are down in parts of Oakwood, New Thayer, Lake Forest, as well as the Mudlarkland viewing area. Please seek shelter immediately…”) , I would head to the nearest skyscraper in downtown Milford and lay low on the 63rd floor of the Milford Mutual Tower until this thing blew over. And that’s probably what this psycho is thinking. No headin’ to the Milford Lounge for Miller time after the deed is done.

 

At the bar counter “Mr. Bates, wanna ‘nuther Bud before I close up?”`

Coach Shaw at the Bates Motel

The shower curtain opens

DINGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!! DINGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!! DINGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!

“NO GET AWAY FROM ME YOU GONNA PUNISH ME CUZ I MISSED A FILM SESSION I HAD TO GO THE DENTIST…”

“Honey, wake up, it’s me. You were having a bad dream. You’re fine, Dear, I’m here. Come, jump on me and let’s have snack to (talking sexy) chase away that leetle ol’ bad dreamie.”

DINGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!! DINGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!! DINGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!

NO GET AWAY FROM ME YOU CAN’T STICK ME JUST CUZ I CAN’T STICK YOU YOU GONNA PUNISH ME FOR GOIN’ LIMP JUST CUZ I CHOWED ON TOO MUCH ON 3 PASTA SALAD AT FAZOLI’S WISH I HAD MY WINCHESTER IN THE BATHTUB…”

 

And to address bathrooms in public buildings with stalls that have become as big as a dining room suite

“Gil, we can get a graduate assistant to work on Malouf’s hands. He’s definitely not hopeless.”

“I agree, Kaz, looking at the game film here, I saw a lot of positives. He and Finn-

FLLLLLLLLLLLUUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Coach Shaw appears

“Oooooooooooooeeeeeeeee, man, was THAT a big-time load. Musta been the spicy parmesan in the Domino’s pepperoni.”

 

And what Gil Thorp strip in any sport, football, basketball, baseball, hockey, bowling, wrestling (HIGH SCHOOL wrestling, not the stuff you see down at the Milford Gardens, you Jerry Lawler freaks) track, X-country, volleyball, golf, curling (just seeing if you’re paying attention) , without Marty Moon enjoying his Lowenbrau Moment (take that over Polygrip Moment anytime) ?

I can see the commercial

“Here’s to good friends, tonight is kinda special…”

Marty and his old high school classmates cram into Marty’s broadcast booth. As long as nobody throws a quick elbow, the Lowenbrau won’t wind up in the cheese popcorn.

“Gentlemen, watching Gil get waxed just makes my night. It just don’t get any better than this.”

“That’s Old Milwaukee, Marty.”

“Don’t rain on my parade, Gene. Anytime I can stick it to Coach T with a kicker with a World Cup foot but Yogi Bear hands, it just makes the Lowenbrau that much sweeter.”

“Yeah, and it’s less filling.”

“Tastes great.”

LESS FILLING

TASTES GREAT

LESS FILL-

As Marty squeezes one of his classmates in a Sleeper Hold, we softly hear

“Toniiiiiggghhhhttttt, let it be Lowenbrau.”

 

Sent forth on a quest from TV Land

Bringing Truth and Justice in our hands

It’s Milkmannnnnnnnnn

 

Milkman walks into Milford Lounge. He just made a delivery of two crates of 2% and some Philadelphia Cream Cheese Raspberry and Philadelphia Cream Cheese Gooseberry. Happy Hour is never the same without something to top the appetizer, like pretzels or shredded black ham. He’s taking his 15-minute break.

Marty is submerged in his beer. Talk about Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea.

“Why are you drowning in your sorrows, Marty?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“Look, I’m in no mood to talk to a guy who’s as out of place here as a stray dog in heat at the AKC International Dog Show. Take your milk and cookies and hit the road, Jack.”

“Actually, Marty, I did bring some Chips Ahoy and some egg nog. I’m still on break so technically the bartender can’t say anything.”

Tired of drinking after his 17th Bud Light

“I got suspended for swearing on the air.”

“Well, Marty, saying ‘Die, you gravy-sucking, testicle-licking, ass-kissing, pubic hair-combing piece of cow manure wasn’t the wisest thing to say. But I was once suspended for two weeks.”

Marty looks up. Milkman is winning him over.

“That’s right, I was released from my duties for telling the supervisor in front of several members of the 3rd shift crew on the Country Crock Cinnamon Butter production line that the milk  was so bad here, there was no difference between that and what came out of an elephant’s boobs in Rwanda at the Nature Reserve. I was young and stupid and without a paycheck for two weeks. Hard to pay the pawn shop for a Gibson Guitar, let alone buy Fruit of the Looms at K-Mart when you have no money. Marty, we’ve all put our feet in our mouths. Maybe you need a shoehorn every once in a while, oh, OK, every week, but we have all said things we wish we could reel back later. Yours is just a 60-lb. striped bass that requires a tow truck to haul in on The Fishing Channel. That’s the only difference. Plus, I don’t wear a goatee. Homogenized milk would look nasty on it.”

“Gee, thanks, Milkman. I’ll go get a gallon of regular milk and apologize to Gil for being such a nasty creep. I’ll even throw in that I shouldn’t have called Mimi a prostitute.”

“Aaaaaaaaa, Marty, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s taken 60 years to wean yourself from your SNAKE nomenclature. It might take 60 more ’til it’s out of your system but you’re getting the idea..

“Awright, Mister, you’re ruining business. Buy a Falls City or scram.”

“Sorry, bartender. Would you like some Philadelphia Cream Cheese Hazelnut before I go?”

 

 

Heard at the Milford Adult Book Store between two employees during a dead period (Mondays are always like that)

“You think it was David Greene?”

“He might have attacked Marty Moon that one time but Shaw’s performance was on the Sabbath.”

 

At the Milford Kohl’s, Marty Moon is trying on some Dickie pants. He’s attempting to find out if he’s gained any weight or grown any since he switched from WMFD to WDIG (“Marty, I swear, you’ve grown since you transferred. You ever think of trying out for the team?”) .

He is currently debating 42/32 or 40/38. His growth spurt perhaps out of control from all the Pabst Blue Ribbons at the Milford Lounge (Milford Enquirer, May 15, 2011 article: “Beer Drinking Stimulates Pituitary Gland, Releasing Growth Hormones, Studies Reveal at the Milford Community College!!!) . He tries on the 42.

There’s a hitch. The problem with dressing room doors is that they’re manufactured from the same company that produces saloon doors. Marty’s dressing room door is created from the same design of the door of the saloon Wild Bill Hickok died at from “Dead Man’s Hand”.

“PEEKABOO!!!!!!!!!!”

“Peaches, dammit!!!!!!! Can’t you see I’m dressing??

“Oh, you sexy tart, that’s THE IDEA. I thought we might get a little comfy before you try on any more Richards.”

“Dickies.”

“Whatever, same name, different sex organ, but gets us both erect, that’s all that matters.”

“Peaches, I gotta get my uniforms tried on before I hit the nightshift tonight. Can’t it wait until tomorrow morning? I’ll still have a little octane in the tank before I hit the sack.”

“But someone might sugar your engine, sweetie pie. Come, come, the clerk will understand two adults need for a little fun at the playground.”

“Doll, I’m not rumblin’ at the jungle gym where the kids can see me butt naked.”

“Oh, Marty, don’t be a party pooper. Life is more than Mini-bus manifests and beer nuts at the Milford Lounge, let alone going up and down at the teeter-totter with members of the same sex, even if you’re both butt-naked. Now drop ’em and let’s have a little fun,”

She rips the pants button off the unpaid merchandise only to find out that something else is unaccounted for.

“Ummmmm, never mind.”

“Peaches, you barge in like Jesse James holding up the Last Gulch Saloon and now you just pack u[ and leave with no loot?”

“I’m surprised he didn’t shoot you cold dead with no gold in the vault.”

“Honey, I’m harder than a rock and I’m not even trying. Why don’t you make yourself at home as long as you’ve wrecked my schedule.”

“Kinda hard when you’re not hard.”

“How dare you stiff me like that when I’m trying to do my job?”

“You could bust out of this saloon door and not only would no one notice the dearth of stiffness, you wouldn’t have ANY jobs, payroll or non-payroll.”

The manager walks by

“Is there a problem here? Oh, it’s you, Marty. I see that it’s nothing at all.”

“Rest my case.”

 

“When you can’t get embarrassed when you’re displaying nothing in your birthday suit, it’s time to hit the Milford Men’s Clinic. They have programs that work, now including Milford Men’s Clinic Quik-Fix Pump injections to avoid those awful surprises like the one I had. I’d rather spend a night at Peaches’ mother’s house. ALONE. Isn’t it time you filled your Dickie pants with more than just pants? So that it’s more than just a pun? Sure you do. My britches feel fine and I do do too. You’re gonna like the way you look. And pump. I guarantee it.”

 

Comment away, gang. Don’t let the opportunity slip through your fingers.

 

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Men’s Warehouse Sues Marty Moon Over Unlawful Infringement Of Their Slogan.”

sub headline

“Sharkey Refuses Case. Received a ‘D’ in Copyright Law and Patents at the Richard M. Nixon Law School at Milford Community College, According to a Report.”

 

TALK ABOUT THE SAME OLD STORY

TO EVERYONE THAT SHE KNOWS

SHE’S JUST SITTIN’ IN A ROOM

WITH BOOKS ABOUT UFO’S

In the den at the Thorp household

“Mimi, you didn’t tell me you were into Carl Sagan

 

Off of (warned ya, gang) Husker Du’s “New Day Rising”, in case anybody’s interested.

Thanks, timbuys, for the insert. You da Man. This just made my day. Enjoy, gang, and thank Tim while you’re at it. He’s VERY creative.

September 19, 2018

Freddy Got Fingered – No, Really

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I was looking for a Freddy Got Fingered reference in the archives and sure enough I found one.  Still it wasn’t a post title, so…

Freddy’s form looks to be a bit off, but not as far off as the Oakwood ballcarrier in P2 who appears to be running parallel to the goal line, not towards it.  Could be because he’s dislocated his head, or that he’s distracted by Gil’s withered monkey’s paw on his shoulder. Maybe he needs to watch Sam Koch do it.  Better still, maybe he needs to find Sam’s golf bag.  (Seriously, if you have a few minutes to spare, read that golf bag link.  Pretty interesting stuff if you’re a football fan.)  Even better still, after this game take a practice teaching some other schmoe how to long snap and get Sam Finn back there to punt.  Then Freddy can get back to the business of placekicking, working at the family auto mall and dreaming of soccer.

Speaking of soccer [read in Andy Rooney’s voice]: Did you ever notice that Neal Rubin holds a not-so-secret grudge against soccer?  Earlier this week, Freddy uses soccer as an excuse for his lack of punting ability. (Okay, I can buy that, since we’re talking about two entirely different approaches toward putting foot to ball.)  In our last arc, Gil’s Golfing Gallants had turned to golf as an escape from soccer concussions (well, at least one of them; the other just went along for the ride).  Before that, we had the whole Heather Burns saga with mediocre girl soccer player turned backup tight end via the training room. Going back further still we had Milford’s soccer players and coach portrayed as villains for not doing Gil’s bidding and placekicking for him*, which in turn led to the Brody Abro Era. Why does Rubin hate the beautiful game? [Andy Rooney voice off, Linda Richman voice on].  Talk amongst yourselves.

 

*BTW, note in that link that I once had a different screen name. I don’t recall what made me change it.  Note also that the comments section was about triple of what we have now.  Wha’ happen’?

September 18, 2018

A Mediocre Football Game Is Better Than Paintbrushes Chewed Up By The Dog

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At a Mudlark football practice one day held at the Luke Bunkin Multiplex Practice Facility:

I WANNA BE A GIL THORP RANGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I wanna be a Gil Thorp Ranger!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I WANNA LIVE A LIFE OF DANGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I wanna live a life of danger!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

LET’S GO!!!!!!!!!!! YOU WUSSIES’LL NEVER TACKLE, LET ALONE PUNT, IF YOU LOAF LIKE THAT!!!!!!!!!! THE PLOT LASTS 3 MONTHS INTO SUPER BOWL WEEKEND AND WE GOTTA STAY FIT. ALRIGHT, SAY IT AGAIN

I WANNA BE A GIL THORP RANGER!!!!!!!!!!

I wanna…

“Seconds” by U2 is blaring over the intercom at the facility.  Gotta keep the troops motivated. Plus, “New Year’s Day” seems to have improved the punting technique of a few Mudlarks.

 

Man, this is getting ridiculous. Who better than to turn a no-brainer into a quasi-dilemma? Ya say ya don’t know what a dilemma is? Okay, for all of you who got an “A” in Modern Vocabulary in high school (ME ME ME!!!!!!!) ,  you can take your dog for a walk and let him/her piss on his/her favorite fire hydrant while I explain to the rest of the numbskulls who were pulling wings from flies or tripping little old ladies while they were in the crosswalk on a busy street corner in downtown Milford even as the teacher was trying his/her damndest to define supercalifragilisticgetsmeoutadocious ((I think the second s in the word has 2 of ’em) . “It’s the atomic number for carbon!!!!!! Y’know, the black stuff that blows out your tailpipe?” “What’s atomic number?”

Dilemma, Gil, is when you’re stuck with basically 2 options, neither one very appealing but also have equal merits. To go one way, is to get the bad consequences and the good consequenes of the other and vice versa. Gil, what you said REALLY isn’t a dilemma. Granted, a mediocre punt meant that, well, at least you got off the kick and if the chickenshit punt receiver tries to do an end-around and finds himself cornered by Mudlarks and regresses even further and winds up on their own 2-yard line when the PR should have taken his punishment like a man and started at, say, their own 39-yard line, not great but STILL decent field position, then at least your Mudkarks got SOMETHING out of a potentially disastrous situation.

What GOOD consequences arises to the surface from a botched punt?

“Kaz, let’s screw this thing all to Hell and have Finn sail the damn thing over Malouf’s head and once Malouf picks it up at our own 20-yard line, have him kick it toward the goalpost for a field goal attempt. Rumors are he has a booming foot. We’ll call it Razzle-Dazzle Get on the Good Foot, C’mon, Double Out Right Curl Slant Option Wishbone Formation on two.”

“Way ahead of you, Gil. I’ve got it written in the playbook, on down to Razzle-Dazzle. Should the fullback pick up the nose guard on the blitz?”

“Nah, Finn can botch and chew gum at the same time. He oughta be ready for the gorilla comin’ to sack Malouf.”

 

I tried to tell you I can’t punt

But I’m never talking to you again

I showed you every way, you grunt

And I’m never talking to you again

I’m never talking to you

I’m tired of wasting all my time

Trying to talk to youuuuuuuuuu

Talking to you.

 

BTW, that isn’t Tiki’s car at the top of the pile in Husker Du’s “Zen Arcade”. As long as I’m quoting one of my favorite groups, just thought I’d set the record straight.

 

 

Sent forth from the realm of TV Land

Bringing truth and justice to our hands

It’s Milkmannnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!

 

“I like it cold.”

 

Tiki is moping in his war-torn sedan in the middle of the Luke Bunkin Multiplex Practice Facility. Is there more to life than football? Will Maine ever field an NBA franchise? Does a skunk shit in the woods (more than likely yes on the last question) ?

“…I’m glad you introduced me

And I hope you’ll understand

I’ll be faithful to this bottle in my handdddddd.”

 

Milkman has just dropped off 3 crate of Milford Dairy Skim Milk  at the Milford 7-11 and is just about to clock out when he spots Tiki, which he’s able to do by the blaring music.

“Tiki, when you’re screaming George Jones, I know things aren’t kosher in Mudlarkland. Why the honky tonk offering on your Close ‘n’ Play?”

“Milkman, my piece of shit just got shittier. It’s got a busted headlight, kids spray-painted “wash me” on the ash tray, and there’s more dents than dimples in a golf ball. To top it off, the car won’t start.”

“Tiki, I think your problem is very easy to solve. One day, my milk truck wouldn’t start and I was putting my Christianity to the test attempting to get to the root of the problem. I kept my profanity to a minimum but it was getting to the point where before too long I would sound like Bruce Willis in “Die Hard” (“Can’t you get the milk truck started?” “Does it sound like I’m ordering a fucking pizza?”) . Finally, my boss came out and calmly and gently put his arm around me and said ‘I believe you need one of these.’ And when I put the key in my ignition, I was able to finish my rounds at the Milford Toyata plant. I was overjoyed that I was able to deliver fresh Milford Dairy Homemade Ice Cream Blueberrry/Cheese Cake to the starving masses. And this (pulling a car key out of a container of  Milford Dairy Reduced Fat Kosher Prepared Cottage Cheese) should solve your problem.”

WOW MILKMAN THANKS HOW CAN I EVER REPAY YOU???????

“Gentlemen, start your engines!!!!!!!!”

Tiki takes the cue, fires up the busted commodity and flies off the Multiplex Practice Facility playing Tammy Wynette’s “Stand By Your Man”, loud enough for Oakwood to hear it.

 

As Milkman drives into the sunset

“Milk is the Key of Life.”

 

Now THIS is what gets me. We’ve spent all this time in the Agora with Socrates and Plato debating the merits and demerits of Democracy vs. Republicanism, with Jeremy Bentham, John Locke, Adam Smith, and John Kenneth Galbraith thrown in, I mean, they’re chewing through The Invisible Hand Theory (“No, Plato, the butcher will let The Hand determine if he should tell the customer that his Ground Round has flies in it.” “On the contrary, Socrates, the government should swoop in like John Maynard Keynes on Bad Hair Day and rescue the customer from this rancid set of circumstances and inform him before this customer develops herpes and is therefore incapable of sustaining himself in The Good Life.” ” I respectfully disagree, Plato” said I) , only to have the Romans come in and Rambo the Acropolis, Delphi’s Oracle, the Parthenon, Mount Olympus, and even the Labyrinth, after all that work the Minotaur put into it only to watch it reduced to plaster,  and drive the Greeks to the Rock of Gibralter.” Yeah, Gil, Bad Hair Day is better than dandruff, I suppose, but it looks like a football game, or a sport played of ANY kind, Hell, I’ll accept hopscotch at this point, would keep this strip in character and my sanity in order,  I’m that desperate for the Lincoln/Douglas debate to end and get READY FOR SOME FOOTBALL (“I move that we put a moratorium on this debate so that the good people of Quincy can watch the Bears/Packers game and we resume after the contest, assuming that is acceptable to Senator Douglas.”) !!!!!!!!!!!

 

Gang, get ready, cuz Gene Rayburn is rarin’ to go with another Match Game 2018 question. Take ‘er away, Big Guy.

Dumb Dora was SOOOOOOOOOOOOO dumb (HOW   DUMB   WAS  SHE???????) , she thought mediocre sex was better than a botched ________________.

 

Gil and Carrie White one night in the Milford HS chem lab.

“Carrie, you really get me erect. I don’t care what your Pentecostal mom says about you, your dirty pillows are better than Charmin Deluxe at the Milford IGA. You are saved, filled with the Holy Ghost and sexy. Let’s spend the night together.”

Carrie, weary of hearing that line after listening to the song 1000 times on Gil’s 8-track (“Coach, I didn’t know you were a Stones fan”) in his classic ’76 Plymouth Duster still lightly nods her head, a bit shy. Let The Games begin.

 

The Games are interrupted by a short in the Torch.

 

“Coach Thorp, you’re a hunk and I don’t mean to be disrespectful, you’re the teacher and coach, but…where is it?”

“Hmmmmmmm, I could have sworn I read more Penthouses than L’il Audrey Comix this week in preparation for The Moment. Is nothing peeping out?”

“Do I need to drop a coin to find out?”

Here, let me look in the Grand Canyon. The Colorado River is trickling here somewhere. Wow!!!!! I didn’t know Gila Monsters lived down this far. Hope they don’t drown but they probably won’t the way my ED is flaring up again. You have any IcyHot? Man, that cactus is dangerously close to my pubic hair. Ah, here’s the Lily of the Valley. Take me to the river, Carrie. Carrie? Carrie?….Carrie?

Carrie?

Gil searches around the house and turns up nada. He combs every nook and cranny of the house, then finally walks outside. He scales the front, careful not to step on Mimi’s plumerias, and heads to the back. He spots an old gravemarker by his Toro riding mower, just beyond the 3-point arc of his basketball court where he works with Keri and Jaime on their game in preparition for their pre-school league where they’re defending champions. Gil kneels and reads the inscription of the grave marker.

 

Carrie White and Principal Ek burn in Hell!!!!!!!!!!

 

SUDDENLY a woman’s hand with a Mudlark engraved into a bracelet and a man’s hand donned with a Milford HS gold watch both grab Gil.

Gil yells at the top of his lungs, desperately clinging to his Soul, scraping and scratching and clawing to keep from being dragged down to the pits of Hell.

“Gil, I’m here, I’m here, Gil, I’m here. I’m here, Gil…”

 

“Boy, what a nightmare. Thank God I had an ED injection ready by the nightstand. Mimi and I had a quickie and I returned to Heaven. Principal Ek and Carrie would have to endure the Lake of Fire by themselves. Fortunately, I would not commingle.

The Milford Men’s Clinic can cure your Erectile Dysfunction as well so that there’s no weeping nor gnashing of teeth. Shoot, it performs better than Sominex so YOU can perform better than Sominex!! I know, Mimi conked out just at the point of climax. You’ll be off to La La Land with a boner the size of a Coney Island dog. But don’t take my word for it, come to the Milford Men’s Clinic at their new location in Downtown Milford, right between the World Trade Center Towers. There’s free parking on the 100th floor. It can’t get any easier than that. My erection seemed to think so. Check ’em out today and check out the view from the Observation Deck on the 98th floor while you’re at it. You can see all the way to North Dakota and Apartment 3-G on a clear day. An erection with a view, now that’s the ticket.”

 

Gang, go to it. A bad commentary is better than a good Gil episode at this point.

 

“Hi, I’m Dennis Weaver. I was chased by a crazy oil rig driver all over the country. As a result, I developed Fybromyalgiacenterofibrosis of the panatella and the lateral cruciate ligament. I also received several head injuries, one on the medulla oblongata, one on the right dorsal lymphoid tissue of my cerebellum, and one on the frontal parietal bone, barely missing my left occipital lower cranial cavity, just getting off with a contusion. Then my butt hurt something awful from sittin’ so long, runnin’ my ass off from this lunatic. Thank God for The Shark. He helped me recover my back wages from lost time at work and the insurance company even paid for the IcyHot to soothe my butt. And we even found out that the driver was Charles Manson and that his driver’s license had expired, so he not only received more prison time for his escape but got his license revoked. The company paid extra on my center ventral maxilla for hirin’ him. If ya got a cell phone handy whether you’re at work or sittin’ on the john workin’ out yore IRA, it’s 1-FON-THE-JAWS.”

 

” I’m Joe Sharkey. Don’t fight Milford Mutual alone. One call, that’s all.”

September 17, 2018

Teenage Kicks

Filed under: football, Gil Thorp — nedryerson @ 6:16 am

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I’m still trying to wrap my mind around how Sam Finn came to be known as the BEST punter on the team. He’s a lineman and long snapper. How did he start getting reps at punter? Has he seen any game action at punting, and if he did, who snapped the ball to him?

The next logic puzzle for today concerns placekicker Freddy Malouf. He has a soccer background which is not uncommon among placekickers. How often do soccer players kick a stationary ball? Is that supposedly an analogous skill to placekicking? I really don’t know. Soccer is not really my area of expertise. I do realize that there is nothing in soccer like punting (except occasionally by goalkeepers) so Freddy’s cluelessness makes sense.

Now, as to Gil’s teaching method of punting….well, we’ll just chalk this up to a limitation of static art. Still, Gil’s punting demonstration makes me sad. But to be fair, Gil is probably supposed to be showing Freddy some components of punting and not the whole nine yards (which is how far Gil can punt with his knee.)

Today’s post title refers to this classic two and a minute slab of pop from the Undertones. This is one of those songs that I find myself listening to repeatedly because one time through is not enough.

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